


It's Just You and Me

by BrownBananas



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Best Friends, F/F, High School, The 100 Femslash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-06 15:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13413972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrownBananas/pseuds/BrownBananas
Summary: Clexa AU, where these two high school kids are just trying to work it all out.Leave a comment.





	1. Chapter 1

"I don't think you want to do this," she whispered in the dark, between kisses.

"I don't? Or you don't?" you whispered back.

You were practically on top of her, your legs tangled, leaning on your forearms. You could barely see the outline of her nose and jaw line in the darkness, but you felt her breath so close to your mouth, you knew where to look.

"I just…" she paused and drew a long breath. Your foreheads touched. "I just don't know if we should be doing this." Her voice was tender as if she was terrified of hurting your feelings and having this moment end. You could tell she chose her words carefully.

You've been waiting for this conversation to come up since you both got drunk at that party two days ago and made out in the bathroom. Now, sober, Clarke began to have doubts. You've thought about all of this too, but lately just thinking about kissing Clarke drives all of those uncertainties out of your head.

"We're just having fun, aren't we?" you said, trying to sound as disaffected as possible.

"Yeah, but…"she started, but you interrupted her thought with a brief touch of your lips. She kissed you back, softly at first, then deeper after she reached to the back of your neck and pulled you closer.

"But what?" you asked with a smile. You knew that the longer you kissed and the more times she kissed you back, all of the arguments and doubts would start to dissolve. She couldn't be that uncertain and still be kissing you back, could she?

"I just think you want this because it's easy and convenient," she said.

You sighed and put some distance between your bodies. Your breath caught in your throat, not because of her hand still lingered on your neck, and not because of the soft edge of her middle finger that was quietly stroking the outer rim of your ear. Not because of the softness of her bed around you and not because of the scent of her shampoo that lingered over her pillows. No, instead, your muscles tensed and your breathing turned shallow because those words were filling your head with every possible meaning they could have.

"Isn't easy better than difficult?" you said. "I think if you're having fun, and I'm having fun, there's no reason why there should be something wrong with this."

As those words left your mouth you wondered, for just a second, if you were trying to convince yourself as well. You shrunk the space between your bodies and leaned in close again. Her eyes met yours in the dark, and the silence was heavy with feelings and wanting, curiousness and reticence, inhaling and exhaling. You brushed your nose against hers, right side with right side, left side with left and she smiled.

"It'll be OK," you whispered. "I promise."

You didn't even notice that you had lowered your voice, and that your whisper was little more than a breath chiseled into words. That moment seemed too heavy for louder voices and too fragile for sudden movements. You were both caught in the stillness of it all. If you thought about it later, it would seem this was the defining moment, the moment you made a choice and she let you. You didn't know why, and you didn't think it could have been possible, but she let you.

"I'm going to kiss you now," you breathed out.

Your eyes met for a moment, and a question lingered after your statement. Her eyes closed and her features relaxed.

This is it, you thought as you closed your eyes and met her lips with yours. The contact was warm and soft, and that feeling that some describe as electricity or fireworks just felt like quiet, concentrated, elation. As your heart swelled with thrill and passion, your hands grasped her t-shirt tighter, you pressed your bodies even closer together and her hands tangled themselves in your hair. It was as if you two were having a silent conversation. The shallow breathing strung together the words and phrases you were constructing between kisses: her bottom lip tugged lightly by your teeth, her tongue lightly pressing against yours, warm and smooth, the light and dry kisses of both sets of lips meeting periodically, punctuating the dialogue.

You lost yourself for a minute. Your mind wasn't blank but it was clear. This was it, this was all you had wanted to do and talk about ever since you woke up after that first night. Your hands were now roaming other parts of her body, but you were always conscious of the boundaries that still existed between you. Your touch was limited to her sides, her stomach, her shoulders and her neck. She kept her hands on your shoulders and in your hair, pausing periodically to brush a stray strand away from your face, her fingernails lightly tracing a line from your eyebrow to the back of your ear. You felt, right in this moment, like a shaken up bottle of soda that's just been opened, the fizz and foam rumbling towards the surface, ready to burst out of the bottle and explode onto the floor. But that couldn't happen. Not now, not while you still had so much to figure out. Clarke couldn't see the shaky situation you had placed yourselves in. You had just promised it would be OK, and you knew it was your job to make it so.

You leaned against your forearms again and hovered above her. She kept her eyes closed for a few seconds before she realized you had stopped kissing her. She took a deep breath before opening them and you felt her warm exhale make its way from your chin past your neck. A shiver ran through your spine but you shook it off, literally, by shaking your messy hair over Clarke's face. She giggled softly as she batted your hair away from her eyes and pushed it back over your head, she held her left hand behind her head and used her right to tuck the rest of the strays into the bun she was holding. Now that you were used to the dark you ran your eyes over her face, from her forehead to the bridge of her nose, from her high cheekbones to her slightly parted lips. Your eyes met again.

"Do you want to talk about how we're going to do this?" you asked hesitantly, worried that the answer would take away any future encounter of this caliber.

"I feel like this is how a relationship starts," she said, in a frustrated tone that made your heart sink, "and I don't think I can do that."

"No way," you say with conviction, recovering after the first blow, "relationships are complicated and messy, and this can just be easy and fun and light."

"Are you sure?" she asked; in the way mothers ask their kids if they have brushed their teeth at night. When they know you're probably lying.

You laughed at the implication, and that seemed to set her at ease.

"Absolutely," you said.

You were positive right then, that this was a relationship you could get behind. Clarke was already your best friend, and you spent most days together, only now you would just have one more thing to do together, something to add to the list, next to mocking the cheerleaders and going to the woods.

"So what is this?" Clarke asked to clarify.

"It's just you and me," you said reassuringly, but softly, bringing your lips next to hers again. "It's just fun."

Your hand gripped her neck and pulled her head up just an inch. Your lips met and you were lost, once more, in the warmth and the comfort that fuzzed out your thoughts and wrapped itself around you.


	2. Chapter 2

You were awake. Your eyes were closed but you were awake. The world outside your eyelids seemed bright. You blinked your eyes open a few times and yawned.  _It's probably really early,_  you thought.  _Typical._

It took you a minute to realize where you were and why you couldn't move your arms. Clarke was turned away from you and your left arm was caught under the crevice between her pillow and her shoulder. Your other arm was snaked around her waist and up near her chest where she held your hand with both of hers. Your fingers were intertwined. You fit together. You had always fit together perfectly.

You stayed like that for a while. You even lost track of the time. All you wanted was to keep her there, pressed against you, fingers locked together hearing and feeling the sound of her breathing.

She must have sensed you were awake; she must have felt your gaze. Maybe your arm twitched, or your hand moved, but in between an inhale and an exhale, her breathing changed, and her head tilted. Her eyes opened slowly, but grew accustomed to the light immediately. She rotated her body to face you.

 _This is where it gets confusing,_  you thought.  _You don't want a relationship. I think I'm OK with that. As long as I can kiss you, and as long as I can hold you this close, I think I'm OK with that._

Your eyes met.

"Hi," you whispered.

Suddenly, you were aware that your breath was probably bad morning breath, and silently berated yourself for not getting up and brushing your teeth before she woke up. She didn't seem to notice.

"Hi," she whispered back.

You stared at each other for a few minutes. Your hands, no longer entwined in hers, were free to move down the whole length of her torso, up to her exposed collarbone, back through her hair, as you pushed it behind her ear. She closed her eyes and hummed happily at your touch and moved her hand to your neck. She cupped your face and idly stroked your cheek with her thumb.

Your eyes met again and you tried so hard to stop the look of adoration you were probably giving her. You were smiling like an idiot, and your senses were overcome by the sweet scent of her shampoo that you shook out of her hair as your fingers ran through it.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, probably knowing the answer. Hints of pink were tinting the top of her ears and the highest part of her cheeks.

 _Dammit_ , you thought.  _Caught_.

"I just…" you started, you thought about lying, about changing the subject. But then, you thought about your conversation last night. Relationships were messy and complicated, but this was easy. "I just really want to kiss you right now," you answered truthfully, with a furrowed brow, worried she would move her thumb from your cheek.

She smiled and let out a happy sigh. She looked into your eyes again, and you wondered what she saw, because her grip tightened slightly and she brought her lips right up to yours. You felt the warmth of her breath all over your body. You kissed once, lightly. You kissed again. She would place her lips on yours, she would make a soft kissing noise, and she would retreat, smiling to herself. You waited until she tried one more time, and when she brought her lips to yours, your gripped the back of her neck, deepening that fleeting kiss and lightly sucked at her bottom lip. She was still smiling.

You were giddy now. You were both caught within the tangle of your own limbs. The sun grew warmer as the minutes trickled by, but you didn't notice. No, the only thing that mattered at that moment was the current position you placed your body in: you leg was between hers, and you were holding yourself up above her, your hands on either side of her head. She was looking at you expectantly, as if she was already fast-forwarding this scenario in her mind.

She closed her eyes as you lowered yourself closer, her lips parted in anticipation to your kiss, but it never came. Instead, you lingered just about her mouth, close enough for her to feel the warmth of your breath and the slight tingle of your hovering lips. And you pulled back, straightening your elbows, holding yourself up at a distance again. She opened her eyes, confused. She kept her eyes open as you lowered yourself towards her lips again. She stretched her neck slightly, so that your lips would touch again, but you pulled back. You smiled. Clarke – realizing your game – opened her mouth into an amused, "oh" and gasped in mock disbelief at your kiss withholding. You dipped closer one more time, and lingered a second or two longer than before, and before you could pull away, she grabbed your face with both hands and pulled you into a searing kiss. You couldn't help but let out a slight moan of surprise. You felt her lips turn into a smile, and you separated, giggling, as you lay back down next to her.

Your foreheads were touching and her thumb was back to stroking your cheek, lightly and softly as if she was trying to memorize the exact feeling of your skin. You breathed a contented sigh, as you saw the colors of her room had grown brighter. The sun had risen higher and warmer.

"What do you want to do today?" she asked.

It was Saturday, and you had already made plans to hang out all day. Just because you couldn't imagine spending the day doing anything else but kissing every inch of her smooth and perfect skin, it didn't mean that your plans as friends had been cancelled or discarded. It appeared that Clarke was still holding on to the ground rules and boundaries you had set up last night. You were hurt, an acid feeling rose up within your chest, but a second later you were grateful. This is why fit so well together. You were passion and instinct, fleeting moments and snap judgments; you sprinted through feelings and, most of the time, fell flat on your face. Clarke was different. She was quiet and calm, took her time and she understood the frailty of emotions. Her relationships weren't sprints: they were marathons.

"We can do whatever you want," she said, dragging you out of your thoughts and back to the conversation.

"Whatever  _I_  want?" you asked, with a suggestive grin on your face. You places two deep and slow kissed on her lips. You ran your tongue over hers and pulled her in closer when you heard a soft and surprised moan from the back of her throat.

She pulled away first.

"I mean, aside from that," she said with a smile.

"Hmm," you said, taking your time to make sure your proposal was convincing enough. "Wanna, have a little breakfast and take a walk? Hang out on your porch?"

She nodded.

"Can it just be you and me?" you asked, pushing your luck a little.

"I'd like that," she said. Then added, "We should probably get up, you know, start the day."

You didn't move. Nor did you let go of her waist.

"Whyy?" you playfully whined.

"Lexaaaa," she whined back.

You loved the way your name sounded when it came out of her mouth.

"Fine," you sighed. Dragging out your consonants.

She kissed you quickly and turned away, she swung her long legs over the edge of her bed. She paused for a second. Even without looking you knew she was pointing her toes and stretching out her calves. If Clarke was still for a long time she would pop all her bones in her toes and would point her feet so hard they would form capital C's. When she stood, her ankles clicked for a few steps.

"Have your feet always made that noise?" you asked her.

"What noise?" "That clicking sound."

"Yeah, ever since that day I feel out of the tree house when we were little. Remember that?"

"Oh yeah," you mused. "I can't believe I haven't noticed before."

She tossed all the pillows on top of you one by one until you were buried in a big pile.

"You sure know how to make a girl feel special," she said before jumping on top and crushing you under a mountain of fluff.


	3. Chapter 3

Time with Clarke has always flown by. You've never been able to figure out how it works. Time at school goes twice as slow as regular time. The time between classes and practice has always been basically non-existent. Time with Clarke evaporates.

You got up, got dressed and ate, and you did nothing the rest of the day until now. At least, you couldn't grasp where the last nine hours of the day went. As you sat on the steps of Clarke's porch, your elbows resting on the step behind you, and as she stroked your outstretched palm with her long, lithe index finger, you realized you didn't care. These were the nights, these were the Saturday nights, and when you strung them together, they became your life.

The evening was cool, but still. The days were starting to get longer, and the pewter blue light hung in the air after the sunset, making the two streetlights emit an even yellower light than usual. The lights in the house were off: no one else was home. The yellow of the streetlight was the only thing illuminating Britt's silhouette, carving and sculpting the lines and shadows from her long, extended, muscular legs, to the knuckles and slightly raised veins on her hand. You sat in a comfortable silence, only listening to the rustle of the tops of the trees.

"What?" Clarke asked, interrupting the stillness of the night.

"Hmm?" you asked back, you tilted your head in confusion.

"You sighed," she said.

"I did?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I didn't even notice."

She paused. Still waiting to hear your answer, her eyes stayed on yours.

"Just happy, I guess."

She didn't say anything, just scooted closer to you on the step, linked your arms and intertwined your fingers. She placed a small, fleeting kiss on your cheek and rested her head on your shoulder. You stayed like that until the blue disappeared from the evening, and the only thing left was the golden highlights on your skin from the lights across the street.

Clarke took a deep breath and raised her head. You turned to look at her. She kissed you. Slowly. It was as though she couldn't tell you what she was feeling, but she could show you. You felt the emotion behind that kiss, or at least what you hoped was the same feeling you were trying to show her. Her tongue ran over the roof of your mouth, and you felt goose bumps run down your spine. Her kisses moved from the depths of your mouth to your cheek, to your ear. She ran her tongue from the ridge at the top all the way to your earlobe. She licked it slowly, as your hand gripped her shirt, and brought her closer. You were still sitting side by side, so half of your body was already pressed against hers.

"Mmmm…" you let out, softly, slowly, as she bit down lightly on your earlobe, and pressed her tongue on the innermost crevice of your ear.

"You like that," she said, in a whisper, a statement not a question. Her breath tickled the side of your face.

You hummed happily again, until she wasn't kissing you anymore. You opened your eyes. Maybe something was wrong. You saw her pull away for a second, but then she swung her leg over your lap, and straddled you. You hands instinctively moved to her hips. You tugged at her belt loops bringing her hips even closer. The pressure in between her legs was building, you knew. You knew this was a little bit too far, and a little bit too fast, but Clarke swayed her hips against yours and placed strategic kisses at your neck.

You brought your lips together and you moved your hands to the side of her face. You tongue ran over hers, it felt rough on one side and slick and smooth on the other, you could faintly taste the lemonade you had been drinking in the afternoon. You eyes were closed tight and you tried to capture this feeling, the exact feeling of her hands on your shoulders, her hips against yours, her tongue in your mouth, her lips around yours, your hands under her shirt pressed against her bare back and then her tight stomach, the rising feeling in your chest. You tried to feel it all at once because you knew. You knew that in a few years, you would look back at this very second in time and know that was when you knew what it was like to be happy.

Your kisses grew more frantic, you wanted more of her but you were held in place by the boundaries you two still had. Two days ago you were just friends, but right now you were, you didn't know what you were. All you knew is that you wanted more of Clarke. You wanted to make her feel like she's never felt before. Your kisses had grown so deep and passionate, you periodically separated – just an inch – to take deep breaths, your chests were rising and falling heavily, your hips were grinding rhythmically. She leaned in and kissed you again. She took your bottom lip between her teeth and tugged at it gently. You kissed her lips and kept your mouth next to hers.

Your hands were back at her belt loops and hers were tangled in your hair.

"How do you feel about second base?" you whispered, boldly.

She kissed you. She kissed you again. She put her lips next to your ear.

"Go for it," she whispered so seductively it made your hands tighten against her belt loops that you felt your skin burn a little at your grip.

You were kissing again, and your hands moved to the smooth skin under her shirt. You traced lazy circles on her back, and slowly and smoothly moved your hands upwards towards her rib cage. You could feel the definition of her abs under your thumbs and the subtle rise and fall between her ribs. You reached up behind her back, found the clasp of her bra, and with a snap of your fingers, unhooked it. It was strapless, so you pulled it out from underneath her thin tank top and threw it onto the porch, over your shoulder. She smiled into your kiss. Her laughter vibrated at your teeth.

You brought your hands back under her shirt, her skin was growing warmer and you moved determinedly up to her chest. You left hand stayed at her ribs and your right cupped her breast. You ran your thumb over her nipple in little soft circles, feeling it harden under the pad of your finger. She threw her head back at the contact and let out a high moan into the otherwise still and silent night.

You didn't know how long you stayed on the steps, but your right leg had fallen asleep, and you were out of breath. You peppered two or three light kisses at Clarke neck and pulled back a little. She sat up, on your lap, found footing and stood. Her legs were still on either side of you and you ran your hands from her ankles to the back of her knees.

"You want some wine?" she asked.

"Do you have any?" you asked back.

"Not on me," she said with a smirk, "but I know a little place we can go."

She took your hand and pulled you up, gave you a swift kiss on the lips, and tugged on your hand so you would follow. You laced your fingers together and let her lead you for a few steps.

"No restaurant or bar is gonna serve us wine Clarke," you told her.

"This one will," she said.

She was leading you around the house, to the backyard. Your confusion was growing by the minute, but you decided to embrace the mystery. Clarke was a wild one, to say the least, and it was one of your favorite things about her.

"Here it is," she said, standing at the base of the cottonwood tree that grew tall in her yard.

"I'm confused."

She pointed at the rope ladder that hung next to her.

"OK, that's just the old tree house," you reminded her with little laugh in your voice.

You were still, it seemed, a few steps behind in the plan. Her dad had built her a tree house when she was in grade school, and you'd known Clarke for a few years now and had never heard her acknowledge it, let alone use it. You raised your eyebrow, but still kept a smile on your face. Brittany popped her hip to one side, rolled her eyes and started to climb. You followed her.

"Shit, I can't see a thing," you said as you gripped the floor of the tree house and hoisted yourself up to a sitting position.

"Hold on," she said. "I'm trying to find it."

"Find what?"

"There!" she said triumphantly.

She had plugged something in because in an instant, the dark and dusty tree house was illuminated by hundreds of white twinkling Christmas lights. There was a little sofa, covered with a dusty sheet and a shelf that held an assortment of bizarre items: a rusted piece of metal with a faded engraving, some sea glass and a mason jar with a candle inside it. To you they just looked like bits of junk, but you smiled at yourself thinking about little Clarke, and how those were probably objects she had treasured and felt they deserved a place of honor.

"C'mere," she said, sweeping the sheet off the little couch and plopping onto it.

You stood and went to sit next to her. You pulled your legs onto the couch _._

She smiled a devious smile and reached under the couch. She pulled out a dusty and moldy shoebox. Obviously, it'd had a little trouble withstanding the elements, and it looked like it had seen a few winters.

Clarke opened the box, and pulled out an object wrapped in a plastic bag. She looked inside the bag, smiled, reached in and handed you a corkscrew. You were more amused than confused at this point and took it without a word, just a surprised – but delighted – gasp. She reached into the bag again and pulled out a wine bottle. The label had been stripped off and replaced with a note in loopy handwriting: IN CASE OF EMERGENCIES.

She smiled a toothy grin; she was obviously pleased with herself. She put her hand out, and you handed the corkscrew back to her. The plastic bag and the box lay discarded on the floor.

"How long have you had this up here?" you asked, astonished.

"Ever since I was tall enough to reach the top shelf of the liquor cabinet."

You were impressed. But then you were concerned.

"Are you sure we should drink it?" you asked.

"Sure," she said with a little bit of strain as she was pulling the cork out of the bottle. "Mom and Marcus went to a benefit or something. Don't worry, they'll be pouring themselves into bed around dawn."

Pop.

"Here," she said, offering the bottle to you.

You took a long swig. If it was just you and Clarke downing a bottle of merlot, you were going to enjoy the hell out of it.

"Is it any good?" she asked.

You thought about it for a second.

"I don't know. How can you tell?"

She took a swig, the lip of the bottle made a hollow popping noise as it left her perfect lips.

"Tastes good to me," she said.

That was enough to convince you. You passed the bottle back and forth as you talked about everything, and nothing: the kids at school, your parents, her parents. Eventually, it went to where all of your conversations had been ending lately: sex. This was a subject you thought you had command over, but Clarke kept surprising you with her outrageous stories. Her legs were stretched out over your lap and your fingers were tracing the edges of her kneecaps. You paused every now and then to inspect a scar, running your fingers over the healed wound and placing a kiss on it, as a sign of mourning for every time you imagined her to be hurt.

When you looked up, she was smiling coyly over the mouth of the nearly empty wine bottle.

"I don't think I'll be any good at it," she said with a wrinkled nose.

"At what?" you asked.

"Sex," she said plainly. "With you."

You took the bottle from her hand, tilted your head back and emptied the last of the wine into your mouth. You were buying time.

"That's OK," you said, putting the bottle on the floor and still stroking her legs. You were embarrassed suddenly. You couldn't meet her eyes.

She sat up, took both of your hands, and moved her legs so that she was straddling you again. You still couldn't look her in the eye.

"Do you think this might be going too far?" she asked. "Too far past being friends, I mean."

You had an answer for that. You'd been thinking about it for a while.

"No," you said, raising your eyes slowly. You fingers were playing with each other. "I think as long as we can talk about everything, we'll be OK."

"Let's just be honest together," she said.

"Exactly," you said. "OK?"

"OK," she whispered back. She was smiling and nodding against you lips.

You didn't know how much time you spent in the tree house after that, until you saw the hint of pink in the clouds.


	4. Chapter 4

"Is this a little strange?" she asked. She was busy pulling books out of her locker, so she wasn't looking at you. The question was directed at the shelf that held all of her assigned reading.

"What's strange?" you asked, keeping the same distance and nonchalance she was leading with. You rearranged books into your backpack and looked at her from the corner of your eye.

"That we're so good at turning it on and off? Like, when we're here in the hall I just see you as Lexa. Everyday Lexa."

"Uh, thanks?" you said, confused as to what she really meant. You knew that you had to avoid explicit and overly detailed expressions when talking about this in public, but you were still a little behind in her reasoning.

"No, it's not a bad thing," she said a little more quietly, as she came closer to you.

She was standing next to you, her arm lightly brushing against yours. You were both staring the same direction, into the cavernous depths of your disorganized locker. She turned her head towards the door and traced the outline of your figure in a picture that was taped to the inside. It was a picture of the both of you, taken a few months ago. You're both laughing in the photo; your arm snaked around her waist, her arm over your shoulder. Your eyes are closed and your mouth is wide open, and for a minute you tried to remember what was so funny, obviously some fleeting and now forgotten joke.

"I was just thinking how easy it is to be two separate people," said Clarke. "Like right now, in school, I can stand here, next to you, at your locker, and we're still Clarke and Lexa; the same Clarke and Lexa whoa have matching schedules and hate homeroom."

Her voice was growing softer as she spoke, almost at a whisper. You found yourself leaning your head closer, while still staring firmly ahead.

"Or," she whispered, turning her head so that her lips were almost touching your ear. "I could tell you all the things I want to do to you later," she said, in her most seductive tone.

In surprise, your hands found the closest steady surface – the edge of your opened locker – and gripped it as hard as you could, to maintain a little composure. You shut your eyes so you could focus on her warm whisper tickling your ear.

"I could tell you that I'm going to kiss and lick every single inch of you, until you're screaming my name," she said, as she dipped her tongue into your ear.

Then, just as suddenly, she went back to pulling books from her locker and double-checking her homework planner.

"Seriously?" you asked, loudly, finally looking directly at her face. Your knuckles were white from clutching your locker.

"She what I mean?" she answered, with her signature, ten thousand-watt smile, "Two different people."

"Can the other Clarke come back?" you asked her. "Like, now?"

She flashed you yet another smile, slammed her locker shut, gave you a quick wink, and whispered in your ear, as she made her way past you.

"Tonight."

You were in a daze for the rest of the day. You barely listened in class, football practice came and went and when you were waiting for Clarke outside your house, all you could think about were Brittany's lips on yours, her strong and slender legs wrapped around your waist, her blonde hair cascading down her naked back. If you closed you eyes, you could see her straddling your waist, and gripping the back of your neck as she –

"What are you doing?"

You jumped in surprise. Clarke had snuck up behind you and wrapped her arms around your waist. You felt the adrenaline and panic leave your body slowly as you realized that it was just her interrupting very vivid and explicit fantasies about, well, her. You relaxed and slowly melted into her embrace. You leaned your head back, resting it on her shoulders, and you placed your hands over hers as you swayed slowly.

"I was just thinking of you," you said boldly.

She took your earlobe between her teeth and hummed softly. She kissed your neck and your shoulder, and her hands moved to the strip of exposed flesh at your midriff. She took you by the waist and spun you around so you were facing each other, bodies still pressed together. She kissed you. Your hands reached up to her cheeks, and you ran your thumbs from the sides of her nose to the edge of her jaw line.

You broke apart and your noses brushed against each other.

You just stared at her eyes. Her vivid, electric blue eyes that scanned your face out of habit, reading your thoughts and gauging your mood.

"So, we have a bit of a problem," she said.

Instinctively you steeled yourself for the worst news. This was it. This was the point where she had come to her senses and was going to stop touching your skin with her fingers, she was going to stop kissing you with those lips, she was going to stop looking at you with those eyes. You wrinkled your forehead and furrowed your brow in preemptive sadness _. At least it was good while it lasted, right?_  you thought to yourself.

"I didn't finish the reading for tomorrow, so I'm gonna have to do a little work while I'm here," she said, apologetically but kissing you between each pause of her sentences, "but then I thought we could ( _kiss_ ) drink a little of the ( _kiss_ ) wine I brought and then maybe ( _kiss_ ) I could stay the night?"

"Stay forever," you said, relieved and elated.

She kissed you again.

You sat up on the guest bed that lived in the pool house and Clarke laid her head on your lap. Her long legs were outstretched on the comforter and she pointed her toes periodically, stretching her calves. Her long blonde hair was splayed across your lap, and you ran your fingers through it, methodically, softly and quietly. She was reading certain passages out loud. The assigned reading was a few chapters from a novel, but you weren't listening to any of the words she was reading, nor did you retain any of their meaning. Instead, as you smoothed and twirled her hair, you listened to the cadence of her voice, the way her mouth wrapped itself around consonants and vowels. You listened to the scrape of 's' sounds against her teeth, and the wide resonance of the 'w's. You noticed the pauses between words and sentences; you noticed her nimble fingers flipping the pages gracefully.

Then you realized you were in trouble.

She snapped the book shut, when she was finished underlining the last important passage, and flipped onto her stomach. Her head was still on your lap, but her hands played with yours now. She took your right index finger and brought it near her mouth. She dragged her teeth across the pad of your fingertip and let it slide, slowly, across her bottom lip. You stopped breathing entirely.

"What to you want to do now?" she asked, looking up slowly, letting her eyes linger on your hands, your breasts, your exposed collarbone and then right to your eyes.

 _I want to tell you that in this past hour, I just realized that I'm falling in love with you,_ you thought.

"Oh, I don't know," you said instead, in a tone of mock boredom.

"Well," she said, sitting up and sitting your lap. "I'm sure we can think of something."

She kissed the one spot on your neck that guaranteed her a high-pitched moan, and a tighter grip on her waist. In just a few days Clarke had learned your body better than anyone, and she used it to her advantage.

"Mmmm…" you hummed. "I love this."

Her kisses were slow and calculated. But, she stopped, put her hands on either side of your face and stared you directly in the eyes.

"We're still just in this because it's fun, right?" she asked.

"Of course," you answered a little too quickly. "What else would this be?"

"I just…" she started, now looking down and sitting next to you instead of on you.

She trailed away. This was hard. While Clarke was skilled at reading your every thought just by looking at your face, you were less adept at reading hers. She was holding one of your hands, and gently tracing the lines of your palm, but her eyes were far away, as if she was saying all she wanted to say in her head.

Now you were panicking. If Clarke suddenly lost interest, and you went back to the relationship you had before all of this started, if she brought back the boundaries, if she stopped letting you pull her into a kiss by her belt loops, or if she stopped letting you kiss her neck and intertwine your fingers, if she stopped it all – you now realized – you would lose everything.

 _Please tell me that you feel something more for me_ , you thought.  _Please._

"What?" you asked, instead.

"I just…don't think I'm ready for anything serious right now. Not yet."

_Ouch._

"What? No way."

"Well, what is this then?"

"Things haven't changed, Clarke," you assured her, and yourself. "You're my best friend. And I know that we're blurring the lines here, but this isn't like we're dating. At all."

"But when we hang out we just do…this, now," she said.

"This is true," you said. "But can't we just look at this as another thing we can do together?"

"I guess…"

"I'll tell you what," you said, trying to regain some control, coming up with a plan. "What if, we just don't kiss anymore? Actually, what if we just stop doing this all together?"

She looked up at you now. Her eyes looked a little hurt, and worried.

"Is that what you want?" she asked.

_No! I don't want this at all. I just need you to want it. To want me._

"It is if you say so."

She grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you into the deepest kiss you two had shared yet. She dipped her whole tongue into your mouth, and pulled you on top of her. Her hands moved down all the way to the small of your back and she pulled your hips into hers. A surprised, and low, resonating moan came from the back of your throat. You pulled away. You tried to catch your breath.

"I don't think I could stop doing that," she said. "And go back to the way things were."

"So what seems to be the problem?"

"That we still need be able to do friend things."

"We do friend things all the time!" you said. "Yesterday we watched that movie."

"Yeah, and I ended up sitting on you and kissing your neck."

"You totally started that."

She sighed. Then smirked.

You bent in closer and kissed her again. You both had the perfect rhythm, and you went a little lightheaded at the combination of the scent of her perfume and her hands gripping your ass. Your hips were rocking back and forth steadily against hers, she tugged at your waistband slowly, exposing your boyshorts underwear.

"Mmmm…this are soft, and adorable," she said as she extended her palms and pulled your hips even closer.

You smiled and played with the hem of her tank top. You bent down and kissed the skin that you revealed slowly, inching the hem higher, and higher. You stopped at her ribs, when you heard her breath hitch, and then you swept the shirt over her head entirely. You were left staring at her perfect body, her silk-smooth skin, and her perfectly formed breasts under her turquoise bra.

"It's my favorite," she said with a smile.

"You're my favorite."

She smiled.

You reached your hands behind her back and unhooked her bra. You looked at her breasts and her soft, pink nipples, and you kissed both of them, so soft and slow that you knew – from the bucking of her hips, and the grip of her hands – that she wanted more.

"How does that feel?" you asked her, quietly.

"S-s-s-oooo good," she answered in a whisper, dragging out the sounds of each letter. "Keep doing it."

You did.

A few hours later, Clarke was asleep in your arms, and you made a silent promise to yourself and to her, that you wouldn't tell her how fast and how deeply you were falling in love with her. Not until you knew she would say it back.


	5. Chapter 5

You and Clarke have always loved walking through the woods. Sure, it's just a heavily wooded park, but when you were little it was an endless expanse of forest.

It was a few weeks since your epiphany at the pool house, and you had been trying to regain control of the situation. If Clarke was not going to find out that your friends-with-benefits arrangement was driving you crazy because you only wanted the benefits, and to be the sole thing on the planet to make her happy, then you were going to have to work twice as hard at seeming half as interested.

Your head was a mess.

The walking started because you realized that both of your bedrooms had beds. Those warm, soft, comfortable beds that let you turn a homework session, or a movie screening into a make-out session and a movie ignoring. So, Clarke suggested talking a walk. The walking let you regain a bit of composure around Clarke, being stationary around her made you itch to put your arms around her or kiss her neck, so instead you had been chewing your nails. You bit at them until there was no more to chew, and you were accumulating hangnails by the hour.

Your hands were a mess.

Lately you've been walking around the lake, since most of the lake had a paved sidewalk. You'd started making a habit of going around it and the two of you would walk, no, stroll, down the path until it ended and then turn around and walk back. You talked about everything. Almost everything. On the weekends it was crowded, but you and Clarke would walk almost every day. You started recognizing the people that would frequent the park on the weekdays, like the man in the striped polos that walked, what looked like, his girlfriend's dogs. Mostly, they walked him. There was the older woman, who sat on the bench right at the edge of the lake. She wore a hat, most days, and would sit before you both got there, and she would still be there as you were leaving. She clutched her patchwork tote in her wrinkled and worn hands and would stare at the lake. Sometimes, you noticed, she would move her gaze from the lake to the space next to her on the bench, and then she would place her hand on the empty space. You wondered who was supposed to be sitting beside her.

Today, Clarke was walking straight to where the path ended, and when the both of you reached it, you stopped and were about to turn, until she grabbed hold of your hand.

"Not today," she said.

She kept walking onto the grass, and further around the lake. The trees were thicker here, with no path to cut into their growing; they intertwined their canopies and created patterns with their shadows on the overgrown grass. You looked up at the rustling leaves and the tall tree limbs, Clarke's hand still in yours. The shade was cool and the grass was damp, so you kicked off your sandals further ahead, so you could pick them up as you came to them. She followed suit. You felt the grass and the dew and the earth between your toes, and you felt your heel sink into the soft muddy parts of the bank, but most of all you felt Clarke's hand in yours. You felt the way her fingertips wrapped around your knuckles; you felt the way her palm and your palm just, fit together. Suddenly, Clarke took two long strides forward, keeping her hand back, where you were; she turned slightly and tugged at your arm. You let her lead you in the motions and she spun you twice, catching you with her other arm and wrapping both of them around you. She swayed, her chin resting on your shoulder, both of you facing the shimmering lake. She swayed as if she could hear the music, and you closed your eyes because the moments like this were the ones that mattered. You were collecting them now, storing them away as part of the story of you and Clarke that you told yourself.

Still wrapped around you, she led you closer to the bank and then bent her knees. Since you were both still attached, the lurch backward stiffened your shoulders and sent a pulse of panic down your spine.

"Whoa, it's OK," she said, softly. "I got you, don't worry."

You settled into her body and she settled into the grass, you leaned your head back and wrapped her arms tighter around you. In sync, you both took a deep breath and let out a contented sigh. You both laughed, hard, at your synchronicity. Your eyes were closed and your head was bobbing up and down with her chest as she laughed.

"One day, we'll become separate people again, I promise," you said between laughs.

"I doubt it," she said, and you could practically hear the smile on her face.

You were silent again, and now the only thing moving your head was the soft rise and fall of her breathing. You turned your head pressing your ear at her collarbone and you could hear her rhythmic heartbeat. You decided to test out a theory: that she wanted you as much as you wanted her. Keeping your ear on her chest you trailed your fingers, delicately, up and down her thighs, since you were sitting in between them. Her heartbeat remained steady. Your fingers traced the same paths one more time, then traced the insides of her thighs, from the backs of her knees to the place where her legs met your hips. You listened again. You smiled.

You looked up and behind you, hoping you'd be able to see a change of expression on Clarke's face, but instead you saw her head was thrown back and she was biting her lip mercilessly.

"Really?" you said.

"Every time," she said.

You made a mental note and rested your hands on her knees. You traced little circles on her kneecaps and took a deep breath through your nose, taking in the sweet scent of the lake's mist, the newly mowed grass along the bank and her distinct magnolia perfume. You squinted your eyes and tried to look across the water. You could see a few figures walking along the path and the woman sitting on the bench, and you wondered whether she could see you, and whether she understood that she was the person that sat next to you on your own bench, until her voice dragged you away from your thoughts.

"I haven't been seeing anyone else."

For such a short phrase, this was a complicated sentence. Not only was Clarke saying that she had taken what the two of you had and turned it exclusive, but also she was letting you know, letting you know that this was akin to 'seeing someone.' This was huge. And this could potentially ruin all of your plans.

"Oh yeah?" you asked, trying to feign nonchalance. "How come?"

It was helpful that you two were facing the same way, because you could tell that your question had sent a twinge of pain through Clarke.

"Because of you."

You kept tracing little circles on her knees, but your heart was racing. This was it, you had been waiting for her to say something about the two of you, but for some reason you couldn't make yourself say anything back. Being with Clarke was amazing, but your feelings were so much deeper than a small, blip of a relationship so early in your high school career. You had trusted her to keep the steady pace of this unlabeled relationship and ensure its longevity. But now, she and you were the same, stuck in this uncharted realm of your relationship. She was the most important person in your life, and if you took the leap, if you let yourself and Clarke fall into this well of feelings and one of you didn't make it, it would ruin everything. But you wanted her so badly.

"Clarke?" you said softly.

"Yeah?" she whispered, her lips met the side of your head and the warmth of her breath lingered in your hair.

"I don't think we should date."

"Oh…yeah. Yeah, OK."

You closed your eyes to try and hold back the tears that were welling up in your eyes. The tone of her voice was enough to tear a hole in your heart.

"But I think we have to be more than friends," you said.

"I don't get it," she said. "You just said we shouldn't date, but what is being more than friends, if not dating?"

"It's just you and me being, you and me," you answered lamely. You paused for a few seconds. "Look, I don't know what's happening between us here, but I like it," you couldn't believe that these words were coming out of your mouth. "But I think that we should keep it between us, keep it private and special. Dating is mostly about what other people think, and we are just best friends. You're my best friend and I can't imagine losing you, but also I can't imagine not being able to kiss you," you were ranting now. "But I think we're going to have to stay in this strange, unlabeled, no-man's land of a relationship, OK? Because if I have you and then I lose you I don't know what I would do with myself. Not everyone would understand what we have, but I think we both like it that way. This is ours. This should be just ours."

You still were not brave enough to look at her face, and as you were catching you breath, the both of you grew silent again. The breeze was a little stronger and the water from the lake lapped harder and louder against the bank.

"Clarke?" you said, after long, quiet, heavy minutes.

"You can't imagine not being able to kiss me?" she finally asked.

You smiled and turned your head to look behind you.

"If there was a world where kissing you wasn't allowed," you said, "I never want to hear about it."

She smiled and leaned in towards your lips. You stretched your arm back and cupped the side of her face with your hand. Your lips met, in the comfortable, warm, and delicate intensity of each and every one of your kisses. You broke apart and you looked straight ahead again.

Clarke leaned in towards your ear.

"My parents are gone this weekend. You wanna work on the 'just us' part of being 'just us'?" she whispered seductively in your ear.

You felt your heart swell instantaneously, but you also felt your stomach fall. You didn't know how you were going to be incurably in love with her and keep a casual unlabeled friend arrangement at the same time. You almost didn't think it was possible.

Your heart was a mess.


	6. Chapter 6

Clarke's room was dark except for that small strip of light that shone through a small slit in her blinds. The orange glow of that streetlight below outlined her flawless, creamy skin. She was hovering, barely inches away from you and you felt her breath close to your neck as your fingers closed on her shoulders and you brought her even closer. Her cold lips pressed against your searing hot skin and you though that you would die of wanting her. She kissed the top of your shoulders and slowly moved to the crevice of your collarbone. You bit your lip as your head fell backwards and you closed your eyes. She moved to your neck, inching her way up slowly, making sure that every single kiss and grazing of her lips were placed exactly in the right places. Her hands tugged at your hips and explored your waist, all the way up to your ribs, making your breath hitch.

"Fuck, Clarke," you said, covering up a moan.

"What?" she whispered in your ear before dipping her tongue inside it and tugging at your earlobe with her teeth. "Do you want me to stop?" she asked coyly.

You weighed your options. You could keep taking dirty, letting her explore the little bits of your shoulders and neck or you could finally take the reins of the evening. You've been scared and distracted this entire, perfect evening by all of your stupid feelings that you were missing this, all of this: being alone with her at your fingertips, telling you that she wants you right now, in this very moment.

It was almost as if you stepped out of yourself: your thoughts fuzzed and suddenly you and Clarke just, were. You were together, in sync, your hands roaming each other's bodies while your lips had a silent conversation punctuated by nips of her teeth on your neck and the occasional tugging of her bottom lip. Your hands made it to the hem of her dress and, in one fluid motion, pulled it over her head – flinging it behind you. She let out a short gasp of surprise; her eyes wide and her mouth open in an amused smile. She cocked her hip to one side and draped her arms on your shoulders.

"I seem to be undressed," she said in an amused tone, meeting your eyes with those electric blues, and kissing you briefly, but deeply.

"Not quite," you said, between kisses.

Your hands found the clasp of her bra and unhooked it expertly. She stood there – her hands tangled in your hair, your hands on her hips – wearing nothing but her lacy blue thong, (the one that's silky to the touch and skimpy to the glance). Your hands could not stop touching her, almost as if making sure that you had mapped out and kissed every inch of her body, every single one of those freckles. She recaptured your lips, and once she had you upright, tore your shirt off from your body. She took hold of your wrists and, with two hurried steps, pushed you up against the wall. You shivered briefly at the cold of the wall on your newly exposed skin, but you were flushed again almost immediately. She was holding your arms above your head and was pressed hard against you. She kissed your neck and your cheeks and bit at your ears, she knew that you were practically begging for her to kiss you. She waited until you couldn't take it any more and kissed you deeply, making that warm feeling from your lips rush all the way down your body. Her hands found the button of your jeans and tugged it loose, pulling your pants down slowly kissing every bit of you on her way down: your chin, your neck, and your collarbone. She tugged at your bra with her teeth.

You unhooked it yourself, in an act that surprised both you and her.

"Wow," she said, looking at your breasts and lowering her lips to kiss their perfectly rounded shape. Her tongue grazed the tip of your nipple before she took all of it within her mouth, sucking at it gently, making your eyes roll into the back of your head and your clit throb. You cupped the side of her face with your palm and you brought her back up to meet your eyes.

Her eyes were questioning, as if she was worried this was too much, or too fast or just too strange. You answered her doubts with a swift kiss on the lips and a quick switch: you had her pinned against the wall now; you gripped her wrists and slammed them up near her ears. She tried to push forward, to go back to kissing you neck and your nipples, but you pressed her up against the wall again.

"Tell me you want me," you said, inspired by this new position of power you seemed to have assumed.

"No," she said, smiling, trying to nip at your ears and trying to wiggle free from your hands.

"Tell me you want me," you said again, this time letting your tongue flick at her hardened nipples in between each of your words.

She shivered, let out a moan, and her knees buckled underneath her. You were holding her upright by pressing up against her a bit more, but most of her weight was on you and your hands.

"Fuck, girl I want you so bad," she finally conceded, and you let go of her wrists. She wrapped her arms around your neck and kissed you harder and deeper than she had ever kissed you before. Her tongue and yours played together expertly, you noticed that your hands had found their way to her breasts, and your thumbs were playing with her nipples. Without breaking your kiss, She took your hands away from her breasts and moved them to her waist, then her hips, then all the way behind her so that you were grabbing and squeezing her ass.

She leaned her arms on your shoulders and suddenly you knew exactly what to do: you hitched her ass up higher towards your hips and she wrapped her legs around you. You spun the both of you around, walked towards the bed, and you carefully lowered Clarke onto its edge. You pushed her over, so that she was lying down but her legs still hung over the edge. You loved the sight of her arms above her head, her blonde hair fanned out perfectly, catching the few beams of light. You trailed your tongue from the middle of her breasts, to her belly button, to the edge of her panties. You took the hem of the garment between your teeth and tugged. She let out a drawn out moan as you lowered them down her legs. You knew you were moving painfully slowly, and that it was driving her crazy: her hips bucked towards your face and her hands gripped the comforter until her knuckles turned white. She finished the job herself, kicking it off and flinging it across the room before she leaned forward, grabbed you by the side of your face and pulled you on top of her.

"Do it," she said in your ear, dipped her tongue in your mouth and moved your hand downwards, so you could feel how wet she was, how much she wanted you and telling you that you could take that next step. You pushed two fingers inside her and listened to her moan. She reached back down towards your hand and thrust it towards her, pulling you close and pushing you back. Again, and again she showed you how she liked it. Once you got her rhythm down she wrapped her arms around your neck. She put her lips right next to your ear and said something she'd never said before.

"Fuck me, baby," she whispered and it made your limbs catch on fire. "Please," she whispered and you almost came right then.

You lost yourself in the heat of your tangled bodies. Your breath mixed in with hers, your eyes closed tight, but opened briefly when you felt Clarke clench all her muscles and hold her breath. You looked at her face, flush red, eyes closed tight, her mouth slightly parted, but her lips wide in a smile, showing her perfect white teeth. She opened her eyes and met them with yours. She gripped your neck and brought you in close again. She kissed you. She pulled your hand deep inside her one more time and you felt a small pool of liquid in your palm. 

She let out a soft, "yes" in the middle of her orgasm and you never felt so alive.

Your thoughts hazed and your skin grew hot while you kissed, bit, and caressed every last inch of her, and her, you. You tore the sheets of the bed; you flung pillows across the room. You moved from the bed, to the carpet, to the desk, to the stairs.

You sat pressed against the house, Clarke in between your legs, and you both gazed forward at the newly forming dawn. Her arms rested on your slightly bent knees, and yours were draped around her neck. Your chin rested on your own shoulder, because the height let you keep whispering in her ear. You were both wrapped in the bed sheets and wore nothing else. Normally, the two of you scantily clad sitting atop Clarke's roof would have been cause for a scandal, but it seemed that the street belonged only to you this morning, as the deep orange and hazy blue intermingled with the rustling trees. She leaned her head back onto your shoulders, and you held her close.


	7. Chapter 7

"Stop it," you said.

Your eyes were still closed, but you could tell it was already bright out. It might have been 7AM, or two in the afternoon. You didn't care. But, you could feel Clarke's eyes on you, even though she thought you were asleep.

"Stop it," you said again.

"I'm not doing anything," she said.

"You're watching me sleep, and it's stressing me out."

"Why does that stress you out?"

"Because I have to think about how my face looks, and if I have bad breath, or if I'm drooling, or if my mouth is hanging open. Too many things to think about this early."

"It's three in the afternoon."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

Clarke's arms were still wrapped around you and her body was pressed to yours. At some point you had kicked off the covers because Clarke's skin has always radiated enough heat to keep the both of you warm. It reminded you of that time last summer when you and Clarke snuck out to the lake shore to watch the meteor shower. You had left in such a hurry, you forgot to carry out the big blanket, but she just straddled you from behind and wrapped her arms around you. It felt so safe, you wanted to get lost in that memory for a while.

"What?" she asked.

"Hmm?"

"You went somewhere else right now."

"How can you tell?"

"I can tell," she said. "Where did you go?"

"The lake. Last summer," you said quietly, sinking deeper into her arms.

She pulled her left arm out from underneath you and swung her right leg over you. She was pinning you to the bed, while she pulled your arms up towards your ears. Your eyes finally opened, and your eyes met.

"What about the lake?"

"I was just thinking about..." you trailed off. Unpinning one of your hands and pulling her head towards you, so you could whisper in her ear. "How you wrapped your legs around me that night at the lake, and how I wanted you so badly right then. If I knew then what I know now, I would have..." you trailed off again.

This time, you didn't finish the sentence. You weren't teasing her anymore, you weren't trying to turn her on. You were about to tell her that, if you had been more confident right there, you would have taken her in the sand - ripped her clothes off, kissed and licked her whole body. But that was the thing you told yourself you wouldn't say. You wouldn't tell her that you had loved her from the moment you clapped eyes on her. It was too much and you knew it.

"You would have what?" she asked.

"I would have..." you struggled to come up with an alternate ending to that sentence. "I would have...not felt as bad for not bringing that other blanket. You're like a fucking space heater."

"Oh...sorry," she said, trying to pull herself away from you. Her eyes looked disappointed.

"No, no, no, no," you said quickly. "Not like that. Not a bad thing."

You took her lips in yours and trailed your tongue across her lips and deep into her mouth. She me it with hers and your kiss was hot, and wet and you could feel it everywhere. Your hips bucked against hers and you felt that familiar warmth between your legs.

"Fuck, Clarke," you whispered. "You make me so wet."

Your comments were all quickly forgotten in a frenzy of roaming hands and interlocking limbs, sloppy kisses and trailing love bites. She sat up. You laid back, arms resting above your head, and you enjoyed the view from below: Clarke's rock-solid abs, shining from your combined perspiration, her perfectly round breasts, her light pink nipples - hardened slightly - and her long blonde hair cascading down her back. She stretched backwards, and put her head back. She threw her hair in a hair tie she kept on her wrist, and while she did you watched her muscles flex and her breasts bounce slightly at the motion. You couldn't help moving your hips against hers.

"Am I turning you on, baby?" She still tying her hair, but grinding down on your hips.

All you could do was close your eyes, bite your lip and nod.

"Well, you should enjoy this. The alarm is about to go off."

"Ugh, no," you moaned, scrunching your face up in annoyance.

The alarm went off a few seconds later, but instead of the usual buzzing or blaring, the alarm clock started playing a few low beats quietly at first, then louder. You recognized it immediately as one of her favorite club-ready hits, and knew this was going to be amazing.

She put her arms over her head, her hands in her hair, and she let it out of the ponytail she had just made. She moved her hips against yours, the only thing separating the two of you was the thin, and now damp silky fabric of Clarke's panties. The beat was steady and the bass was low, and you thought you were going to pass out from wanting her so badly.

She turned her head in sync with her hips and swung her lustrous hair forward only to whip it back in time with the music. You hands migrated towards her hips and you gripped her thighs as she started grinding lower onto you - her hands roaming her own body, gripping her breasts and touching her hair, and moving her hips. She grabbed one of your hands and brought your index finger in her mouth. Her tongue was warm and rough to your touch. She trailed your hand from her lips, down her chin, her neck and in between her breasts. She threw her head back and you continued the line she had started and kept moving past her ribs and outlined her abs. You gathered your strength and you sat up to meet her posture, but now she was sitting on your lap, legs spread, her nipples at the perfect height to your mouth. You seized the opportunity and take the right one between your lips and sucked gently, eliciting a low moan, and she leaned her head in and her lips touched your ear and her breath felt warm all the way down to your neck.

"Do it. Now," was all she managed to whisper.

You knew what to do and dipped your hand down her soaked underwear. You had garnered enough practice lately to understand how fast and how far you needed to go to make Clarke moan and beg for more. You knew when her hips bucked a certain way that she wanted you to go deeper, to go faster. It turned you on so much when she added her hand to yours, matching its movements as your fingers moved over and around her clit.

"Mmmm" she moaned.

"Show me how," you whispered.

Her movements guided you. Her hips bucked against you. You started grinding fast and harder against your fingers. Her breath grew ragged and her eyes closed tighter.

"Baby, yes," she said after a while, in a pitch so high it was barely audible. She clenched her whole body for a few seconds: she shook and bucked and twisted and then relaxed, completely.

You held her like that for a minute. She had given out from exhaustion and was resting all her weight on you, her head on your shoulder. You wrapped your arms around her waist and she wrapped hers around your shoulders. Your eyes were closed and you listened to your collective deep breathing.

"Clarke," you started.

"What..." she said, but trailed off.

"What the hell is going on here!" said a third voice that sent Clarke flying off the bed and onto the ground beside it. Her eyes were wide and scared.

Abby Griffin was standing at the door frame; and she turned around so quickly you thought she probably had whiplash. She slammed the door behind her and you heard her stop down the stairs.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued...


	8. Chapter 8

"Fuck," you said.

"It's okay."

"Fuck."

"It's okay."

"Fuck!"

"Alright, how much longer are we going to do this?"

You were pacing up and down the length of Clarke's room. Fleetingly, you thought that all of this pacing would eventually wear some sort of path in the fluffy, plush turquoise carpeting. You turned on your heel and started down again, back and forth, reliving the moment of terror in your head. For a second it feels just as horrible as the first time: your heart tightens and your stomach turns, you feel the bile refill your insides, your lungs stop working and all you can think of is yourself. You hated yourself right then. You wrapped your arms around your head in frustration, and closed your eyes so tightly that a few hot tears sprang out and surprised you.

"Shit, you're really freaking out, aren't you?" she said.

"Are you kidding? He saw us, Clarke. He saw you and me in the middle of..." You couldn't even say it out loud, your voice was breaking and cracking. You turned, and started up the same path again.

"I know. I was there," she said quietly.

"Then why aren't you freaking out?"

Silence.

This was the first time you stopped and actually looked at her since you started pacing; since Abby walked in on the two of you and you froze. You couldn't move. You were stuck. The world started to fold in on itself. It didn't make any sense. You didn't understand what had just happened, the weight of her mom knowing, of seeing Clarke, of hearing what you said to each other, it made you want to vomit.

Clarke was sitting cross-legged on her bed, fidgeting with the hem of her pants, smoothing out against her hand and folding it into careful little creases and then smoothing it out again. Her cheeks were flushed red, so were the tops of her ears. She looked sad and embarrassed.

"Because..." she started, her fingers still moving nimbly around the fabric.

You waited.

"Because I'm not embarrassed to be with you," she said finally.

A normal person wouldn't have noticed that faint quiver in her voice, but you knew that she was holding back a wave of tears.

"Clarke, we're not..." you started to say but stopped yourself quickly. She looked at you with those piercing blue eyes and you couldn't finish your sentence. Suddenly, you wanted to reassure her, to tell her that there was nothing to worry about, to say that nothing else mattered, but her eyes would know you were lying.

"Oh," she said quietly, looking down again, examining every single thread on that hem.

There was a pause, and then you saw it. You saw that single, silent tear drop onto the comforter and you couldn't bare it any longer. You ran. You ran so hard and so fast, you don't remember if you shut the door behind you. All you could feel was an emptiness opening up inside of you, and the further you ran away from Clarke, the larger it became. All you could think of was the disappointment in her eyes, her beautiful, crystal blue eyes, and then the image would get replaced with Abby's yell and the swelling of your heart and the overheating of your senses. It felt like everything that was right and pure and special had been sucked out of the universe; that universe that you had created for yourselves. All of it was gone. It was over.

Your breaths were shallow and ragged, and it wasn't until you got to the woods that you realized it was where you were heading the whole time.

You ran the whole way around the lake and then some more, past the paved path, past the overgrown grass, dodging a couple of beer cans and a few old tree stumps. Your paced had slowed and you didn't feel the same sense of urgency anymore. You sat on the grass and felt a cold damp feeling on the but of your jeans. You didn't even care. You brought your knees up to your chin and you hugged your legs. It was barely light enough to see across the lake, but a few minutes later, as it was nearing nighttime, the small streetlamps that lined the sidewalk turned on and their pale, dim, yellowish light reflected in little pools on the water. You watched as the wind made the water ripple through them. You held your knees tightly against your body, the wind was growing cooler and a layer of goosebumps covered your skin. You looked back at the reflection of the lights but noticed you couldn't see them clearly anymore, everything blurred and you realized, by feeling the hot dampness on your cheeks that you were crying.

Your eyes were closed for a long time and you could feel sleep starting to take over: your eyelids – puffy and sore from crying – weighed heavy and flickered and fluttered shut, your arms were growing weak from holding your knees in tight. And then you felt it. You thought it was a dream.

Clarke had sat behind you, and wrapped herself around your body. Her arms reached around you and you fell into them naturally, sinking into the familiar warmth and the intoxicating scent. Her chest went up and down along with yours and you heard a long-winded sigh escape from her mouth; the warmth of her breath traveled all the way down your spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. You found her hands with yours and made her grip you tighter.

"I love you, Lexa."

You froze.


	9. Chapter 9

You met Clarke when you were eight. Sort of.

You had noticed her before because she ran around with the boys. She was the only one that they didn't tease or make fun of. She beat them in races, and jumped farther than they did off the swings. You always sat at the swings, mainly because it was a place where teachers wouldn't worry if you were playing alone and you played alone a lot. At recess, when Jasper went around showing off a dead worm, limp and bloody at the end of a stick, all the girls around you shrieked; hands covering their faces as he would shove it forward, close to their mouths. But not Clarke. She looked at it curiously, her mouth in a frown, her eyebrows furrowed and then – very suddenly – pretended to eat it, right there in front of everyone. The girls all screamed again and ran away, and even you were a little queasy until you saw Jasper roaring with laughter. They high-fived and he ran to tell the rest of them what had happened, still holding the stick over his head, like a knight leading the charge. She was smiling at herself, as she turned towards you, noticing you were still looking at her. You adverted your gaze quickly, and you weren't sure why. When you looked back, she was already walking towards the building. You noticed – as she walked – she would take a double step every now and then, the smallest of skips, as if there was music only she could hear.

You used to love the swings, especially that feeling you got when you had swung as far as you possibly could and the swing would pause, right in midair. You closed your eyes when you swung, because it made that moment feel a little longer. You loved feeling like you were floating, like nothing could hold you, like if you swung high enough you would fly away. You pulled your feet in and swung backwards, and then, with all the force you could muster, you threw your feet forward propelling you faster than ever towards that unattainable height. You knew this would be the highest you had ever gone, and for some reason you decided to let go of the chain. Your eyes were still closed and you felt the rush of wind at your face, you paused in the air and your hands gripped nothing, the swing went backwards without you, and in a split second you landed, hard, on the sand. You lay there for a few seconds, crumpled up in a pile of your own limbs, and took stock of yourself. Your knees burned from scrapes and your elbow throbbed from the impact, you tried to move but everything ached and twinged. You heard quick, muffled footsteps on the grass and then on the sand beside you. You tried to get up as fast as possible. You didn't want anyone to make a fuss, but you weren't moving at all.

"Are you alright?" came a soft and worried voice.

You looked up, but couldn't see who it was until she stepped in front of the sun. The afternoon rays shone past her bright and long blonde hair and her face was crinkled with concern.

"Are you alright?" she asked again, this time kneeling and placing a hand on your shoulder. She straightened you up into a sitting position and sat beside you.

You couldn't even look at her face.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you mumbled at the ground.

"I fall off the swings all the time, see?" She was gesturing at her elbow which was covered over with two Band-Aids making an 'x'. One of the Band-Aids was Little Mermaid and the other was Superman and for some reason you thought that was very cool. You smiled feebly.

"I have one if you need it," she said, pointing at your knee which was scraped and bleeding. You had been so distracted with seeing her that you had forgotten about the fall. Before you had time to answer, though, she had already taken your leg in her hands and gingerly brushed off the sand. Out of her overalls pocket she pulled out a small, see-through, plastic box. It held a tiny tube of ointment and a couple of Band-Aids. She took the tube out and squeezed out a little snake of ointment onto her finger.

"My mommy taught me how to do this, on account that I fall a lot," she said as she applied the antiseptic to your knee. You winced slightly at the cold contact of the ointment, but Clarke came closer to your knee and with her lips pursed right beside it, blew on it gently, cooling and soothing the scrape. "It's okay," she said almost in a whisper, "we're almost done." She closed the cap on the tube and took out to bandages from the box. "I have Elmo, and I have Wonder Girl," she said, offering you both so you could choose.

You finally looked up into her face and saw her looking relaxed but serious, as if this was a very important decision. You decided to consider your options thoroughly. For a split second you were nervous you would pick the wrong one.

"Wonder Girl," you said after a minute.

Clarke's delicate face broke into a smile, her nose wrinkled up and her eyes sparkled.

"Good choice," she said, opening up the paper wrapper and placing the adhesive on your knee. "I would have picked that one too."

You both smiled at each other as she took both of your hands and helped you up. When you were standing, your knee slightly bent and aching, you realized – to your surprise – that you were about an inch taller than she was. You noticed you were still holding one of her hands. You let go of it suddenly.

"I should go home," you said quickly.

"Oh, okay, yeah," she said.

You started to walk away from her, a bit slower than you had hoped because of the sand and because of your stinging knee. You could feel her staring at your back, still standing where you had left her. You turned your head over your shoulder, even though you never stopped walking and spoke loudly, "thanks for the Band-Aid!"

"You're welcome, Wonder Girl!" she yelled back.

You bent your head forward, stared at your shoes, and didn't look up until you reached your front door.

You kept an eye out for Clarke for the next couple of weeks at school, but you were careful not be seen this time. You wanted to know what it was about her that made her different from all the others. It felt like an investigation, like Kitty Kittredge in your books at home. All of a sudden you wanted a magnifying glass and a her funny 1930s slang.

Anya she would be too late from work to pick you up, so you had to take the bus after school; and you would have too, had it not been for Clarke running and laughing in the soccer field next to the bus stop. She, Jasper, and a few other boys were playing cowboys until Clarke had decided she would play the wild buffalo instead. At first she charged towards the cowboys, making horns on her head with her fingers, she bent her body forward and took off towards them causing them to scatter. A couple of minutes after her buffalo rampage, one of the older boys yelled, "rope the buffalo!" and the crowd of cowboys took after her, galloping on invisible horses and twirling make-believe ropes over their heads. She shrieked in delight and put her horns up again, taking off in a sprint. She would dodge and turn and leap and twirl gracefully around the boys, not one could manage to tag her. She never stopped smiling, even as they dissolved the teams and were trailing her in a mob, she looked over her shoulder bent forward and accelerated even more, leaving them all in her dust. She kept running even after she reached the end of the field.

"Hey!" yelled Jasper after her, "Where are you going?!"

"I have to go to paint!" she hollered back, turning and running backwards for a few steps, "See you tomorrow!" she yelled and waved at the throng of boys who were all looking enthralled and disappointed.

The school bus came and left with full with its new cargo of students, but you weren't among them. Instead, you found yourself outside the art studio, crouching behind the glass and watching Clarke paint. You watched her mix her palette and watched her set up her easel, you watched the slow but determined brush strokes take shape in the canvas. You held your breath when she lifted the brush above her head and made bold, broad strokes. She was beautiful. And neither nor the other students could take their eyes off her and her work. The hour and a half of class flew by and all of a sudden the students started packing up their bags, zipping up their hoodies and bidding each other goodbye. Except for Clarke. She stayed behind even after the teacher had left and it seemed like she did this a lot.

"Nice work today, Clarke," said Ms. Bacon, the art teacher.

"Thanks, Jen," Clarke said back. You were astonished that Clarke could refer to a teacher by their first name. She seemed so grown up and in control.

You made your way inside the studio slowly, making sure that no one was there to see you creep around. Clarke had turned on a boombox and was still working on her piece, but this time she was much less precise and meticulous with her movements. It was like she wasn't even attached to her body and it belonged to the music and to the air that surrounded her. You were inside now, but behind the easel to her left. Clarke was doing more dancing than painting now, and pushed her arms forwards and around her head, she moved her feet along to the beat, leaping and turning and bouncing and twirling. You noticed that her eyes were closed when she leaped up high, the same way yours were when you were on the swing. You felt yourself smile. As she came down you saw her foot avoid the ground and she fell on her knee, then on her thigh and then forward as her body somersaulted downwards gracefully. You realized then, that she meant to fall after that jump, but it hadn't stopped you from gasping loudly. You covered your mouth and hid behind the easel when you realized what you had done. You shut your eyes tight and stood very still, like you were trying to melt into the canvas and become invisible because you could hear that her rhythmic footsteps had stopped and so had the music.

"Hello?" her airy voice asked the silence. You could hear her soft footsteps growing closer. "Hello?" she asked again.

You stood so still, you were even holding your curtain swung away from your face and when you opened your eyes you were face to face with Clarke. And she was smiling at you.

"Hi, Wonder Girl," she said brightly.

You were a little shocked by her friendliness. You thought she would be confused to see you there. You weren't sure how she knew you were there in the first place.

"How did you know I was here?"

"I saw you outside at the start of class," she said matter-of-factly. "Also I could see your feet." She pointed at her toes. You looked down and saw that the easel you were hiding in was actually three or four feet off the ground, and your bright white sneakers were clearly visible under it.

"Oh." You blushed slightly. "My name is Lexa."

"I know," she said. "I'm Clarke."

"I know," you said. She smiled.

She took you by the hand and pulled you away from your hiding place before you had a chance to protest. She turned on the music, and without saying a word, starting dancing with you, taking your hands in hers and moving you along to the rhythm and to the beat. You had never felt this feeling before, or maybe you had, a couple of weeks earlier when you were in the air – you were flying.

That was the unofficial beginning of you and Clarke, at least, that's what you have always thought. Ever since that day, you both would find each other in the halls, at recess, at lunch; you would pass notes in class, you had your own jokes. Every now and then, when you were alone one of you would reach for the other's hand. You would be sitting by the lake, or on a bench, or on the couch in your living room, and your fingers would be interlaced. Sometimes her thumb would trace the line between the knuckles on your hand, she would do it softly, and sometimes you would do it back. You remember the first time it happened the little hairs on the back of your neck stood straight up for about 20 minutes. At the movies you would lean your head on her shoulder and, if it was really scary, she would put her arm around you. A few years went by and you forgot where one of you ended and the other began. You became a notorious pair, and your friends knew that you were a package deal; no one invited one without the other.

Seven years after the day at the auditorium, at Jasper and Monty's joint birthday party, Bellamy decided that he would make the night's beverages. He showed up with a cooler the size of an aquarium full of a sugary-smelling red liquid and you knew that it was going to lead to trouble.

"Enjoy a frosty glass of 'Blake's Famous Party Punch!'" he said as he opened the lid and dipped a few cups into the liquid and handed them to you and Jasper.

Jasper took a swig of it and asked, "What the hell is in this?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," said Bellamy with a grin.

"Ah, to hell with it," said Jasper and he bumped his cup to yours. "Bottoms up."

You both knocked back a big gulp of the drink, and you tasted fruit punch and a hint of some things you weren't familiar with. It was fucking delicious. You dipped your cup back into the mix to refill and filled up another to take to Clarke, who was busy tearing up the dance floor and making every single guy want her. She saw you approaching with her cup and danced over to you, moving her hips seductively and taking yours with both her hands, grinding up in front of you, as you help the two red cups over your head and reciprocated her movements. Your faces were very close together. You heard the standard whooping and hollering that you usually did whenever you and Clarke danced together; it used to bother you but Clarke said once that those are the sounds boys make when they want something they know they can't have. You loved having something that others wanted.

"Is this for me?" she asked, grabbing one of the cups.

"Yep," you said from inside your own, taking another big swing of Puck's punch. "Careful though, it's effing tasty."

"Holy shit," she said, taking another big gulp.

"I know. Bell's a genius."

"Never thought I'd hear you say that," she said.

"Whoa, me neither."

You smiled at each other.

"Let's dance!" she said as she pulled you onto the dance floor, so you could make everyone else jealous. You danced all night, pausing for refills every now and then.

You don't know how it happened. You remember being in the kitchen, and you were leaning against the fridge. You remember arguing about who was taller out of the two of you and Clarke standing closer to you to measure, even though she was wearing heels and you were wearing flats. She leaned in close to you and kissed you, right there in the kitchen, full on the lips. The next thing you remember is pushing her up against the door of the bathroom, and falling out of the bathroom in a pile when Monty opened the door. You woke up in Clarke's bed the next afternoon, unsure of how you had gotten there, unsure why your side was sore, and very much unsure why you and Clarke were tangled together, and wearing nothing but your underwear. You closed your eyes tightly, to avoid the light because of your splitting headache and a flash of you and Clarke kissing on the lawn in front of your house played inside your eyelids. You opened your eyes in shock.

"Oh shit," you whispered to yourself.

Now, you found yourself on the shore of the lake at the park, tangled, not in Clarke's arms and legs, but in this mess of an unsatisfactory situation where you had shoved the two of you. Long seconds had passed since Clarke had said it, those words that you had practiced saying to her, that you mouthed silently when you were in the shower, the words that you fantasized about hearing, and for some reason you hadn't said them back. The wind blew a little harder and the shimmering lights on the lake dimmed and paled. The night grew darker.

"Oh shit, what?" she asked you. There were tears in her voice.

You extracted yourself from between her legs and turned around to look at her.

"Why are you sitting so far away from me?" she asked. The tears were streaming silently down her face. She wasn't acknowledging them, and that made it so much worse. You wanted to reach over and wipe them off her face, but you couldn't.

"Clarke, I..." you started to say, but halfway through you realized you didn't know what you were going to say.

Her face contorted into full fledged sorrow and she let out a loud and wet sob. "You don't love me back," she finished for you, and looked up at your face for confirmation. You were so shocked by what she said, so broken after hearing that sob, so scared of making any movement that could mean losing her forever that you didn't say anything to quell her fears. So she just stood up, and left you sitting on the grass, watching her walk away, her arms crossed over her chest and her head down, there was no skipping this time.

The next morning you made Anya drive you to school early.

"But you usually ride with Clarke," she said, as if you had forgotten.

"Can you just take me, please? I have a test," you snapped back.

"Fine, let me grab my keys."

You walked to your locker without looking at anyone else, but making sure that Clarke wasn't anywhere near your locker when you went to grab your books. You planned on grabbing all you needed for the day so that you wouldn't have to see her. You were scared, and you knew it. You walked up when you were sure the coast was clear and you saw something stuck on the door.

A single Wonder Woman Band-Aid.


	10. Chapter 10

You always liked walking the halls of Arcadia HS after school. There was a few minutes after practice, after everyone else had cleared out, when the sun shone low and orange through the high windows. You loved the way the light bounced off the shiny locks and the white speckled floors turned a hint of pink as the light bounced off the red lockers.

You thought that if this was what they looked like all day, you wouldn't mind school so much. Especially now that you haven't been able to talk to Clarke, you have been looking for other ways to keep from tearing your hair out. Football practice helps take the edge off a bit, and there is always the peaceful halls afterwards. Suddenly, you felt a twinge of sadness thinking that almost no one sees the halls like this. You make a mental note to point it out to Clarke, before you remember that you're not speaking.

You are walking the halls because you booked it out of practice, skipped the shower and made a beeline straight for the door of the art studio. Once you got there and heard the raucous laughter you realized that you could have taken your time getting here. You leaned against the opposite wall and waited. Like an idiot.

"You smell."

You had been lost in thoughts for a few minutes and didn't notice that Raven Reyes had appeared next to you, looking perfect. You did notice that the shadows had moved, though.

"Excuse me?" you said.

"I said, 'you smell.'"

"Yeah, I heard you."

Raven shrugged, but stayed where she was, perfectly postured and facing the doors, just like you.

"Waiting for someone?" you asked.

"Finn," she said plainly.

"Right."

A few minutes went by and your anxiety was reaching peak levels. You knew Raven from chem lab and from around school, but you had never been around her unless you had to. The silence was growing heavy between you, and your paranoia was starting to get the better of you. You knew Raven had the ear of the upperclassmen girls, and you knew that waiting outside the studio was going to be reported up the ranks. You knew people were going to assume you were a loser. Or a stalker. Or both.

"Lincoln asked me to meet him here," you said, not as casually as you had intended. Actually, you kind of barked it at her.

"Right," she said curtly.

"I'm serious."

"Sure."

The doors suddenly swung open and Finn walked out flanked by a few other boys slinging bags over their shoulders, canvasses under their arms. You tried to avoid eye contact with any of them. Finn kept walking and talking to the others, except he raised his arm to the precise height of Raven's shoulders. She fell into step with them seamlessly. If you weren't being consumed by irrational hatred you might have been impressed at the display. How in sync they seemed, how unconcerned by the thoughts of others.

"Ugh, screw you," you said to no one.

"Screw who?" replied a voice.

You closed your eyes in annoyance. You knew exactly who was behind that voice. Lincoln. Lincoln and his stupid smug face.

"Are you...waiting for me? Or someone else?"

"You, believe it or not."

"Uh...why? We don't talk."

"Yeah," you said, because it was obvious. "But you talk to Clarke."

"Sometimes."

"I fucked everything up Lincoln and I don't know what to do," you said, your voice cracking and tears springing to your eyes.

"You...what? I'm so confused," Lincoln said rubbing his temples.

You could tell he was trying very hard to talk to you patiently, because you just sat there crying after not even acknowledging him for years, and he could very easily be a condescending douche right now, and you wouldn't blame him.

"Wait, is this about Clarke's mom?"

"What?" you asked, taken aback by the realization that Clarke was also dealing with these things, and told him about it.

"She said she was going to talk to you."

"When?"

"I don't know. A few days ago?"

You tried to think back on the past week, ever since you found that Band-Aid taped to your locker. Except, when you tried to really think of what you had done and who you had talked to you couldn't think of anything. It's possible that Clarke had been trying to get your attention and you were so busy feeling like the fucking victim of all of this that you ignored her entirely. It is very likely that she went through all this trouble to fix things for you, to make everything okay, and safe again, and you were too busy thinking you were the only person involved.

"Fuck."

"What?" said Lincoln.

"I think I fucked everything up," you said, sitting on a low chair and letting the realization, that you might have alienated the only person whom you've ever cared for, wash over you. It felt like an ice-cube down your back and your lungs collapsing. Suddenly, you were doubled over on the chair, breathing fast and feeling faint.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Lincoln said as he kneeled down beside you. "It's okay, it's okay, just breathe. It's okay, deep breaths," he repeated.

You still couldn't catch your breath. You reached out towards him and grabbed onto his shoulders. He picked up your chin with one of his hands and met your eyes with his.

"Breathe with me, okay? Just breathe."

He made shallow breath sounds at first, and then dragged them out to make deeper and longer breaths. You focused on his brown eyes and listened to his breathing. You matched it. You imagined what this must look like to anyone walking by this classroom. Like a two person lamaze class.

"You okay, now?" he asked after a while.

"Yeah, I think so," you replied.

You talked to him for a little while longer in the classroom, until the janitor kicked you both out.

"Can I give you a ride?" he asked, now that he felt sorry for you.

"Nah, I have my bike," you said. Usually you drove to school with Clarke, but lately you had been biking there so you could avoid Anya's prying questions about why you and Clarke were fighting.

"I have a rack, let's go," Lincoln said, and helped you strap your bike to the back of his XTerra.

You drove in silence, but it was a nice comfortable silence, not like the one with Raven in the hall. For a second it felt nice that he knew everything and you didn't have to remember to lie. For a while it felt good to breathe easily, and not think that any misstep might lead to you losing Clarke. That train of thought had taken over your mental real estate for a good long time now, and it felt nice to let go. You closed your eyes and felt the warm breeze from the open window on your face.

"Hey, we're here," Lincoln said, shaking you awake.

You blinked a few times before you remembered where you were. It was completely dark now, and you were still sitting in his car, plus your neck was stiff and sore.

"How long was I out?" you asked groggily.

"About an hour," he said.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" you asked, shoving him a little.

"I tried! You sleep like a dead bear," he said.

"Shut up."

You opened the car door and stepped out into the night air. He got out and started unloading your bike from the rack.

"Listen–" he started.

"Don't," you said.

It had been nice tuning out your life for a little while with him, but now that you are back you knew that you had a lot of work to do to atone for your behavior with Clarke. Tonight, you were finally going to sit down and figure out how to fix it.

You took your bike from Lincoln without another word, except for a casual thanks for the ride over your shoulder.

"Whatever," he said back, and pulled out of the driveway.

Your house is dark, except for the hallway light that gets turned on when Anya goes to a dinner party or bar, or some other thing that she tells you about for a week but you spend the whole week half-listening.

You pick up your laundry hamper from the landing, with all your fresh-smelling clothes stacked neatly. Titus, your housekeeper, has given up on tidying your room and instead leaves things at the top of the stairs. You like the system, it makes your room feel like it's really yours.

You kick the door open while balancing your bookbag, gym bag and laundry hamper and you stumble into your room.

"You need a hand?" someone asks.

You stop in your tracks and drop everything you're carrying.

"Hi," you say dumbly.

"Hi," Clarke says back.


End file.
